


How You Play the Game

by Miri1984



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gen Fic, HUTTBALL, basically a big barrel of fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vopenir Aloni, former Wrath of the Emperor and currently the Commander of the Alliance (also known as the Outlander) receives an invitation from Giradda the Hutt to compete as a star player in a huttball match on Nar Shadaa. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How You Play the Game

Early morning on the base was always a hum of activity -- those who preferred to get the bulk of their work done before the disasters of the day inevitably caught up with them moved with purpose and in relative quiet. There was a sense of control that inevitably faded as the day wore on, that Vopenir liked to pretend would eventually be normal.

Theron was rising before her most days, and despite attempting to find where he snuck off to before the sun’s light even hit the ridge of the main base she still wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing. Today she wasn’t going to bother, however, she was feeling positive, and expectant, the force nudging her towards something important, as it seemed to want to do all the time these days.

 _It has a will,_ Marr had said, and Vopenir had nearly laughed.

_At least one of us does._

The war room was empty save for Lana, who smiled and handed her a cup of caf. The force may have had a will, but sometimes it was useful, for say, informing you when your commander is about to enter a room so you can have something you _know_ she wants.

“We’ve had a communication from Nar Shaddaa,” she said, setting a datapad down in front of  her.

“Theron’s favourite planet,” Vopenir said, smiling slightly.

“Remind me to give you the run down of what he did there, Imperial Intelligence used to circulate some of his more outrageous exploits as light reading between missions.”

As if he knew he was being talked about, the man himself turned up, his own caf in hand, looking relatively cheery for someone she knew for a fact had only had four hours of sleep the night before.

Granted three of the hours he should have been sleeping had been taken up with more… enjoyable pursuits, but he was more than five years older than she was now, and she couldn’t help but feel a little resentful that he still looked fantastic.

“What’s the news?” Theron said. Vopenir picked up the datapad and scanned the missive, her eyebrows raising as she read.

_His bountiful greatness, Giradda the Hutt, invites you to take part in a bonanza of extreme magnificence, to celebrate the liberation of Nar Shaddaa from the ever present and oppressive presence of The Eternal Empire…_

Vopenir blinked and shook her head. “Giradda the Hutt wants me to be a star player in a huttball match,” she said.

Theron’s jaw dropped. “He wants you to _what?”_

“Lord Wrath,” Lana sounded concerned. She only ever called Vopenir “Lord Wrath” when she was concerned. “Huttball is an extremely dangerous sport, we really cannot risk you putting yourself into the field for something so frivolous at such a critical time…”

Koth chose that moment to walk into the operations room. He’d been spending a lot of time with Aric, lately, especially since the incident after the Spire mission. Keeping him company while he did his menial tasks, Vopenir guessed. More often than not the little cathar that Brill and Aric had adopted on Belsavis trailed behind him, nattering at him about this and that, but Koth’s patience for the child was apparently infinite.

“Hey,” he said,” “What’s going on? You all look a bit grim for this time of the morning.”

“Invitation from Nar Shaddaa,” Lana said, tight lipped.

“Oh really?” Vopenir handed Koth the datapad and he ran his eyes over Giradda’s invitation, then looked up and shrugged. “What’s huttball?”

Nearly an hour later and Koth’s eyes had all but rolled into the back of his head.

“So once you get enough balls past the line your team wins. It actually doesn’t matter how many people get killed…”

“... _injured_ or removed from the game,” Theron interjected. He’d made an intricate model out of old datapads and spare blaster parts, and was showing Koth the finer points of huttball positioning.

“Oookay, injured. It doesn’t matter? So why do they bother with that?”

“For fun,” Lana said dryly. “Remember this is a sport invented by Hutts…”

“But it’s not just Hutts who watch it right? I thought the Arena fights were bad.”

“Oh there are medical droids and kolto tanks in every pit,” Theron said, grinning. “Very few people die.”

“Very few, huh?”

“None in the past… well… uh… seven or eight months. That I know.”

Koth looked at Vopenir, desperate for some sort of help. Vopenir bared her teeth at him.

“Surely you don’t expect _me_ to die in the pit, Koth?”

“Uh, well. No. Not as such. I’m sure you’ll give as good as you get. But is this really wise?”

“Morale is important,” Lana said, although she didn’t sound enthusiastic. “And Nar Shaddaa is a key central planet. And huttball is broadcast across all of the core worlds, even those worlds that don’t _officially_ allow it. If the Lord Wrath could garner some grass root support amongst the masses it could further our cause considerably.”

“How many do you think I can kill in the first quarter?” Vopenir asked. “We should take bets now.”

Theron looked at her, eyes wide. “Uh…”

She leaned over and tweaked his nose. “I’m joking, dearest,” she said.

“So we’re going then?” he said.

“Why do you say _we?”_ she asked. “The invitation is for the commander of the alliance, not the commander of the alliance and any scruffy cyborgs she decides to bring with her.”

“Come on Vopenir, you’re going to tell me I don’t get to go and watch my own … uh… Commander play my favourite sport? Wasn’t Lana just talking about the importance of morale? And what do you mean, scruffy?”

“Take him with you,” Lana said, not bothering to hide her exasperation. “Take Koth as well. It’ll be an education for the two of them, I’ve no doubt.”

“Why do I need an education?” Theron said.

Lana made a disgusted noise, and threw up her hands. “Please. Just go.”

 

***

 

“Never been to Nar Shaddaa before,” Koth said, as they made their way to the stadium. “Kind of reminds me of the old world on Zakuul. Smells just as bad too.”

“One of the cornerstones of our civilisation,” Theron said. “Hutt controlled, slimy, crime ridden and entertaining. The worst of Empire and Republic all rolled up into one smog heavy package.”

“I thought you said you weren’t really allowed to be on Nar Shaddaa any more,” Vopenir said. Her invitation had clearly stated that they would be treated to a lavish meal before the match in Giradda’s private box, a party afterwards, and have top class accommodation during their stay. Vopenir, never having met Giradda herself, was still willing to take a little luxury when it was offered to her, especially given the current season on Odessen meant a distinct lack of variety in food.

She missed Dromund Kaas, quite a lot, these days.

“A friend of a friend managed to wipe my record here,” Theron said. “They wouldn’t know me from a rhodian any more, which is good since I…”  


“Theron Shan!” The hearty greeting that hailed them from the front of the palace was loud enough that at least six different sentient winced away and seven or eight more shot them calculating looks. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Theron had frozen and Vopenir saw him shut his eyes briefly. “Oh. No,” he said softly.

A middle aged woman with the widest, brightest smile and the brassiest blond hair Vopenir had ever seen swept towards them. She would have been pushed right back by the security droids except that she was accompanied by an enormous wookiee who simply moved the first of the droids aside by lifting it and setting it down again, and Theron made a gesture as the remaining droids went on alert. “It’s all right,” he said. “She’s a friend. They’re both friends.”

The woman winked a the security droids then grabbed hold of Theron’s head and brought it down to hers, plastering her lips to his cheek in what sounded like a very sloppy kiss.

Vopenir blinked and Koth folded his arms over his chest.

“Bobbi Voresh,” Theron said weakly as she pulled back, grinning one of the most evil grins Vopenir had ever seen, even counting sith lords. “I really should have expected you I suppose.”

“Damned right you should have. You here for the big match? Bowdaar and I were just going to crash Giradda’s party -- he does the best little tart things, or well, I’m pretty sure it’s not Giradda that’s cooking them because his fat fingers wouldn’t be able to get the crenulations right…”

Theron nodded to the wookiee. “Hi Bowdaar,” he said and the Wookiee growled back.

They fell into step beside Theron as though they belonged there, and the droids, seemingly satisfied that Theron was okay with this, simply expanded their protective circle and kept moving through the crowd.

“Rumour has it,” Bobbi was saying, “that they’ve got someone big to play in this match, a sith lord or something, playing with the rotworms. Betcha anything Giradda’s gonna lace her food and send her into the field drugged -- got credits on that actually, should make a killing if the…” she frowned at him as he desperately tried to stop her from speaking… “information… is… Theron for fuck’s sake why are you waving your hand at me like that what’s the problem?”

“Bobbi, this is Commander Vopenir Aloni,” he said. “Former Wrath of the Emperor.”

“Your green sith girl!” Bobbi said, turning to Vopenir and grinning. “Thank the fucking stars you showed up finally, Theron was moping like a bastard for years over you, pretty sure he didn’t get his end away at all… oh apart from that one handsome devil on Port Nowhere… what was his name again? Man.. Marka? Malgus? No, that was the guy who…”

Vopenir blinked. “I’m not sure what any of the words you just said mean,” she said. “But I’m assuming the sentiment is positive. So thank you.”

“Vopenir was invited here by Giradda, Bobbi,” Theron said. “For the huttball match.”

Bobbi’s blue eyes narrowed and her good natured rambling cut off abruptly. “She’s the sith lord who’s going to play for the Rotworms?” she said.

“I am,” Vopenir said.

Bobbi heaved a sigh. “Well. Fuck.”

 

***

 

“Giradda will have dealt with sith before,” Vopenir said as they waited at the entrance to the box. A mix of different species, sharing only a certain cut to their clothing and set to whatever passed for their shoulders that marked them as “wealthy” were also waiting, chattering and buzzing with anticipation. Giradda’s box was big enough to hold nearly a hundred guests, and Theron had explained to her that an invitation into his box was highly sought after, from Alderaan to Balmorra and Dromund Kaas. She couldn’t really blame him for looking so excited, and she shared some of his anticipation. “He’ll expect me to be arrogant, condescending and prone to violence…”

“He’ll expect you to be you, in other words,” Theron said, smirking.

She scowled at him. “I see no reason not to give him what he expects. It’s not wise to surprise or upset hutts, especially hutts this powerful.”

Inside the box, there were tables laden with food, and lounges draped with sentients chatting and eating and drinking. A band played something relatively upbeat, and twi’lek and cathar dancers were scattered throughout. Vopenir was pleased they hadn’t brought Vette, or Brill or Aric for that matter, none of them were happy at such blatant displays of slavery and they didn’t want to cause an incident.

Giradda himself was seated on a massive platform, close enough that he had the most commanding view down onto the huttball pit. An announcer’s booth was placed directly next to him, in it a small, weedy looking human was seated. The pit was full of junior teams, the warm up matches in preparation for the final in which Vopenir was slated to compete.

Giradda was average looking, for a hutt, not that Vopenir had ever taken the time to read up on the finer points of hutt beauty standards. He was smaller than Oggurub, and had different markings. His eyes gleamed with malice and he laughed a great deal.

Vopenir took a moment to reflect that it was a good thing hutts were so rarely force sensitive. All that malice and resentment, with the force to back it up, would result in a powerful sith indeed. So long as they didn’t have to move around too much.

She understood Huttese perfectly well, although she’d never deigned to speak it. Luckily Giradda employed a translator droid -- an RV unit who stood a little ways away from the podium and translated everything the hutt might want to hear.

The droid cleared its throat -- a purely aesthetic function that she found frustrating in her own RV droid, and began. “The mighty Giradda the Hutt extends greetings to you, Lord Wrath, Commander of the Alliance, and thanks you for your gracious acceptance of his invitation to play for the Rotworms during this auspicious celebration of Nar Shaddaa’s renewed independence.”

Vopenir bowed, precisely calculated to give enough respect, but not so much that she would be belittled in the eyes of any other sith present. Not that she thought there were any, but she would not have word reaching back into what remained of the Empire that she was ignorant or uncouth.

“Please tell Giradda it is my honour to be chosen, and I hope to give him much entertainment in the match to come.”

Giradda gave a deep, hearty chuckle. “It has been some time since a sith joined the rotworms for a match,” he said. “I look forward to the carnage.”

They were ushered away, formalities apparently complete, and Koth made a happy sound as he saw a serving droid laden with food and drinks. He reached out to the food, but was elbowed out of the way by a determined Bobbi, who grabbed two of the closest drinks and downed one in one go. She grinned at Koth, whose face had fallen at being denied his treat, then jerked her head at the droid.

“We won’t need any food,” she said, waving it away. The droid beeped forlornly, butting against Vopenir’s knee, seeming insistent that she partake of something from its tray, and Vopenir suddenly understood Bobbi’s concern.

“Theron how good are you at remote slicing using just your implants?” she asked.

“Damned good,” he said, not at all slow on the uptake. He grabbed a drink from the droid’s tray, pretending to take a sip, his eyes going slightly blank as he did so. A couple of seconds later, the droid turned and trundled away.

“What’s the verdict, Bobbi?” he asked. “Was it drugged?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, grinning. “Nice stuff too. Not enough to kill you but it’d certainly slow down your reaction times enough.”

“You drank a whole glass of it,” Koth said. Bowdaar growled something that Vopenir couldn’t quite make out and Bobbi laughed, toasting him with the second glass.

“Sure did, sweetcheeks,” she said. “Best you don’t drink that one, though, Theron, honey.”

Theron shook his head, smiling a little as he passed his drink over to her. She poured it discreetly into a plant and put the glass on a table behind her.

“You’re not going to get rid of yours?” Vopenir asked, indicating the drink in her hand.

“Nope,” Bobbi said. “Can’t watch a huttball match straight. Not that I could do that anyway even without a drink but you know what I mean.”

“Don’t pass out before the match,” Theron said.

“When have you ever known me to pass out from drinking?”

“Good point,” Theron said.

“Does she have cybernetic stomach implants?” Vopenir asked as they moved towards an empty couch that had a passingly good view of the pit.

“Not that I’ve ever found out, no. Not really her style. She’s just…” he shook his head, watching as Bobbi took another large gulp of the second drink she’d nabbed from the tray. “Naturally talented.”

“I know it’s not really something that Sith do as a rule,” Bobbi said to Vopenir as the second of the demonstration matches began. Theron wasn’t entirely certain he’d heard right when it had been announced, but apparently this was a _junior_ match, both the frogdog and the rotworm teams were made up of hopefuls who were not yet of legal age and therefore couldn’t compete in the major league, or at least, couldn’t compete in it and have it be televised. “But you should probably act like you’re more relaxed than usual.”

Vopenir looked at Bobbi out of the corner of her eye and Theron had to cover his mouth to hide a smile. “How precisely would you suggest I do that?” she said, coldly.

“Uh…” Bobbi waved a hand. “I don’t know. What do sith normally do to relax?”

“I do believe my previous master tortured prisoners in his free time,” she said. “Although I did know a sith on Dromund Kaas who enjoyed dejarik.”

Theron chuckled. “She’s kidding, Bobbi.”  
“Lord Vowrawn enjoyed it more when he could use real sentients as the pieces, however,” Vopenir continued.

“She’s _funny,”_ Bobbi said.

“Takes a while to get used to,” Koth said.

Theron sat a little closer to Vopenir, slinging an arm around her shoulder, hoping that that would be enough to make her seem less than completely able to kill everyone in the room. She relaxed against him and he smiled, breathing in her scent. Really, if they’d actually arranged to come here as some kind of vacation it would be quite pleasant, except that she would have to get up and go and get ready to hurl herself bodily across acid pits soon. He swallowed.

“Look,” he said. “I’m no stranger to this game, you know that better than most people, but all this talk of you going out there and… you know…”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Uh. Killing. People.”

“You said yourself, Theron, no one has died playing huttball in some months.”

“Turned out I was a bit wrong about that hah, funny thing. Holonet access isn’t great on Odessen. But yeah, I know they make all the players sign waivers and stuff but…”

“Are you worried about me, Theron?” she asked, wriggling a little closer, until she was almost in his lap.

“Actually… well yeah I suppose I am.” She grinned, leaning up to nuzzle his neck. He cleared his throat, distracted by her nearness, which was obviously what she’d been going for, as one of her hands found the hem of his shirt and started edging it upwards.

He caught at the offending hand and pulled it away, an attempt at maturity and discretion that was somewhat ruined by giving into the urge to then kiss her fingers. “Although I’m not so much worried that you’ll get hurt just that… you might hurt other people.”

Her smile stilled and he saw her eyes glitter in the stadium lights. “Ah,” she said.

“I mean we’re here to raise the profile of the Alliance and killing people on the playing field might not go down so well with certain sections of the population. Not to mention Koth gets antsy and I…”

She put a finger on his lips. “If I promise not to kill anyone will you be satisfied?”

He swallowed. “Sure.”

“I promise not to kill anyone,” she said.

He relaxed a little then and she looked contemplative. “What?” he asked.

“You trust my promises,” she said.

“You’ve never broken one,” he said.

She pursed her lips. “No,” she said. “I suppose I haven’t.”

 

***

 

When huttball was transmitted over holonet you had, depending on which network you subscribed to, the advantage of being able to zoom in on particular players. Most of them wore portable cams, and most of those were sturdy enough to last through whatever the pit could throw at them. Sometimes the cams were the only things that survived after a particularly brutal match, although the more reputable holonet providers cut to black before viewers saw anything too gory.

Watching the match live meant they wouldn’t have that opportunity. There were, however, screens positioned in every available airspace hovering above the pit. If they couldn’t see the action well enough with their naked eyes, no doubt it would be replicated and enlarged fifty times over for them to see on screen instead.

There was an energy to actually being here that Theron couldn’t deny was intoxicating.

Bobbi, who really should have passed out by now considering she hadn’t stopped drinking after the two special ones she’d downed, was sitting on the other side of Koth, now that Vopenir had been ushered away to the player prep room, and was taking great delight in regaling him with stories of exactly how most huttball players managed to get themselves injured.

“Why…. why do people even play it?”

Bobbi shrugged, taking a swig from what Theron suspected was around her tenth drink. “The thrills, boyo. And lots and lots of credits. A top ranking player can walk away with upwards of twenty thousand credits per match, and that’s not counting money they can bet on themselves (or against themselves if they’re really smart). It all adds up, and a broken bone or two is a small price to pay.”

“I’m amazed that you people ever make it to adulthood,” Koth said.

“Coddling the population doesn’t teach it anything,” Theron said, probably too shortly. He was gazing down at the pit, trying to work out exactly how Vopenir was going to work her way around the acid pools and fire traps. He’d been serious when he’d said he was more worried about her hurting other people before she’d gone to get into her gear, but looking down at the pit now, smelling the sulfurous fumes from whatever concoction they had bubbling in those goo pools at either end, and watching the flames reach up towards the screens as each of the fire grids exploded on their careful timers, he was wondering exactly how _anyone_ survived down there, let alone for long enough to get a ball across a line.

“I wouldn’t say we were coddled,” Koth said. “And there’s a line between being able to stretch your legs and being thrown into the pit. Literally in this case.”

Bobbi, who had been watching Theron as he inspected the field, reached forward and patted his knee. “She’ll be fine, babe,” she said. “Met a lot of sith in my time, killed more than my fair share. She’d be difficult for me to take down, even on a good day.”

Theron raised an eyebrow at Bobbi, trying for a smile. “You think you could take her?” he said. She smirked.

“Fight wouldn’t be fair,” she said. “But then when one side has the force, it never is, is it?”

“I think it’s about to start,” Koth said, and from the general expectant air in the booth around them Theron had to agree.

Theron had watched huttball on the holoscreen more times than he could count, but he was beginning to realise that he’d never actually sat through an entire live match before. The few times he’d been able to attend one he’d been working, and the job had always taken precedence over whatever was going on in the pit, so being allowed to actually focus on what was happening was a novelty for him.

Vopenir was hard to make out. The rotworms all wore their purple and white jerseys, and as a guest star player he’d been told Vopenir’s helmet would have a gold star on it, meaning the crowd (and those who were most enthusiastic about killing her, Theron reminded himself) could pick her out. She was fast, though, and small, especially considering the general size of her teammates and those on the frogdog side of the pit, and it took him a moment or two before he could see her.

He caught a glimpse of black and green amongst the purple and white and he blinked, then focused on her standing close to three other rotworms, grinning, with her helmet under her arm and her fist on her hip. Some sort of exchange was going on there, he wasn’t sure what, and he saw her laugh, tossing her head back, and a sudden cold fear settled around his heart.

This was a civilised (and televised) match, and as such there were no energy weapons allowed on the field. Everything else was fair game, however, and players were equipped with bo staves, clubs, crossbows, grappling hooks and even slingshots. Vopenir went completely unarmed, Theron was a little alarmed to note, although technically she had the force, something that _was_ allowed on the field, simply because there was no way Giradda could police whether she used it or not.

“They really should have another force user on the opposite team,” Bobbi said. “Make it even, you know?” he said.

“Um…” Koth was sitting forward in his chair, peering down at the pit. “I’m… almost certain they have,” he said.

Theron blinked, looking over at Koth, who had a frown of concentration on his face. “What?”

“That guy there, see? In the frogdog jersey. The one who’s about six metres taller than everyone else. Look familiar to you?”

Theron could see the one Koth was referring too. Very large indeed, with the sort of physique that Theron always associated with bruisers and men who liked to punch things for no good reason. Bald. Striking in his own way. “He doesn’t, no.” Theron said.

“You weren’t there when we fought him,” Koth said. “So I guess you get a pass on not recognising him. It’s Novo.”

“That’s… the knight right? From Zakuul?” Theron said. “How in the stars did _he_ get here?”  
Bobbi had found a carton of popped mushi kernels somewhere -- the stuff was vile and usually only sold near the cheapest seats, but she was busy stuffing her face with them as she peered down into the pit.

“Giradda must have invited him too,” she said. “Stands to reason.”

“Vopenir doesn’t know,” Theron said. “Someone has to warn her…” He moved to get up, but Bobbi pulled him back down again.

“Relax, Theron,” she said. “Your girl can handle herself.”

“She’s already beaten him twice,” Koth said. “And this time she’s got an entire team on her side.”

Bobbi raised a skeptical eyebrow and threw another mushi kernel in her mouth. “What makes you think her teammates are all on her side?” she said as she chewed, and the cold feeling around Theron’s heart turned into a full blown squeeze of panic.

“This was a bad idea,” he said.

“Yeah,” Koth said. “I’m beginning to agree with you.”

 

***

 

Vopenir hadn’t ever really been great at working in a team until she met Theron, and she had only rudimentary understanding of what she was supposed to do in huttball, but the captain of her team -- a large, broad shouldered zabrak woman, was surprisingly good at giving instruction.

“You’re here to pull the crowd,” she said bluntly, while they waited behind the line for the siren to go off. “We’re used to playing around people who don’t know what they’re doing, but it’ll be easier for all of us if you stay out of our way. Pull a few of us out of the acid pit, maybe lift us to the score line, do a few flashy things and look impressive, but don’t touch the ball and don’t get into any scrapes, got it?”

Vopenir smiled. “Absolutely,” she said.

“If you _do_ happen to get the ball at any stage, for the love of a hutt, pass it to someone else fast, they’ll mob you and they won’t show mercy. I don’t care how strong in the force you are, you get six weequay landing on you because you’ve been stupid enough to get the ball and you’re not getting up again, and we lose our star player and Giradda is pissed that his big gesture fell flat. When Giradda is pissed, we don’t get paid, so we’re not gonna let him get pissed, you hear me?”

“Indeed,” Vopenir said.

The woman shoved a helmet into Vopenir’s hands. “Put it on. It won’t help much, but it’s got a pretty star on it so people know who’s getting punched.”

Vopenir turned the helmet over, curious. It did indeed have a pretty star on it. In gold.

 

***

 

Theron found the way out of Giradda’s box barred by two gamorreans wielding spears. He wasn’t going to let Vopenir go out on the field when things were so obviously rigged against her -- even without the drugged drinks (and the drugged food) there was no telling if Novo was the only other surprise waiting for her.

“No leave,” the first gamorrean grunted at  him. “Giradda’s orders.”

Theron glanced over at the hutt, who was busy stuffing his face from a bowl of something that was still moving. It was difficult to tell hutt expressions at the best of times, they nearly always looked like they were plotting something, maybe because they were. Theron liked to think he was good at reading the intentions of sentients, and he’d done a lot of background reading on this particular hutt. It didn’t make sense that he would be willing to make an enemy of the alliance by allowing Vopenir to come to harm here.

Something wasn’t adding up.

“You’re thinking he didn’t arrange this,” Bobbi said, close to his elbow. He nearly jumped. She wasn’t the stealthiest of people usually, but Theron took a moment to wonder if that was because she rarely went anywhere without Bowdaar, who could probably manage to be stealthy on Kashyyyk when he was surround by a lot of other tall brown things, but wasn’t great at it when he was in a room with sentients who were all a metre shorter than him.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s Giradda’s style. He was very vocal in his disapproval of the star fortress and Arcann’s trade blockades. Most of the hutts were. There’s nothing they hate more than something that stops the free flow of credits.”

“So where did this knight come from, and why did that droid try to poison your green girl?”

“I don’t know,” he said. Bobbi raised an eyebrow, then activated her comm.

“Hey babe, you there?”

“Where else would I be?” Risha Drayen, Bobbi’s most constant partner aside from the Wookiee, had the sort of smooth and sultry voice that belonged on the holonet. Theron knew from experience, however, that like her father before her, she had one of the most devious minds in the galaxy.

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought you might be slumming it with your Prince on the other side of the moon, you know, having fun?”

“He’s busy at the moment, as you well know, or you wouldn’t have dragged me all the way to Nar Shaddaa. What do you want, Bobbi?”

“Looks like the match has been rigged against the rotworms. Got any contacts who can find out who’s behind it?”

“You said that match was going to be rigged,” Risha said. “That’s why we bet so much of our…”

“Yes, yes I knew it was going to be rigged, they pretty much all are, right? But it hasn’t been rigged the way I thought it was going to be. I’m sending you some data…” she nodded at Theron, indicating that he should patch in and upload what he’d gotten from the droid. “Can you track it for me?”

There was a brief silence, then Risha’s voice came back over comm. “Oh hello, I recognise that frequency. Is Shan there with you? Hey Shan!”

“Hey Risha.”

“Babe I’m trying to get stuff done here,” Bobbi said. “You’re not making us look very professional.”

“Sweetheart, Theron knows you way too well for you to ever look professional in front of him. Remember that time on Dantooine when he hacked into that…”

“Risha I love going back down memory lane as much as the next person, but Bobbi’s right, this really is important. The match is about to start and Vopenir’s going up against a Zakuul knight on the other team that absolutely should not be in Hutt space, can you help us out or not?”

There was a dry chuckle on the comm. “What do you think I’ve been doing the whole time we’ve been talking, Shan?” Multi-tasking. It’s a talent you should look into. Useful in the SIS oh -- that’s right I forgot, you’re not in the SIS any more are you…”

Bobbi chuckled and Theron gritted his teeth. “No. I have a different job now.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m pulling up some of your most recent communications… oooooooh _special liaison to the Commander of the Alliance…_ has a nice ring to it.”

Bobbi’s chuckle turned into a full throated laugh. “Special liaison? Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“Now, now, sweetheart,” Risha said, “there’s nothing wrong with marrying into power.”

“Ha!” Bobbi said.

Theron sighed. He had long ago given up understanding exactly how Bobbi conducted her personal life, but everyone involved in it seemed to come away happy, or at least diverted, so he guessed it really wasn’t any of his business, and he _liked_ Risha, just like he liked Bobbi. Just. Sometimes they were tiring.

“Can you trace the code or not, Risha?” he said.

“Just who do you think you’re talking to, Shan? Of course I can. Two minutes.” Theron glanced over at Koth, who was watching Bobbi as though she was the most exotic alien he’d ever seen.

“Where did you find her?” he asked softly.

Bobbi winked at him. Her hearing was very good. “Theron woke up in a dumpster next to me one day. One of the nicer ones. On Alderaan.”

Theron sighed. He would correct her, but it wasn’t all that far from the truth.

“Very interesting stuff here,” Risha said. “Your Commander has made her fair share of enemies over the years.”

“She was the Emperor’s Wrath,” Theron said. “Can’t imagine there are many people out there who remember her fondly.”

“Well, this particular person who thinks less than fondly of your girlfriend is somewhere on Nar Shaddaa. Obviously they want to keep track of their little plan. Can’t get you a name but I can get you a location.”

“We can’t get out of the box,” Theron said, as Risha transmitted coordinates.

“Not to mention leaving now would be incredibly rude,” Bobbi said. “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll sort this out.” She closed the comm channel.

“How precisely are we going to sort it out?” Theron asked. “Everyone is trapped in here with us.”

Bobbi tapped the side of her nose. “I know this really _mean jedi,”_ she said, and Bowdaar started to laugh.

“No,” Theron said. “No you can’t send _him.”_

“He won’t go in alone. Corso can go with him.”

Theron groaned. Bowdaar put his hand on Bobbi’s shoulder and said something stern and Bobbi scowled at him.

“My plans are always excellent,” she said to the wookiee. “No. _Not another word,_ fuzz face.”

Bowdaar growled something else out and Bobbi sighed in exasperation.

“What did he say?” Koth asked.

“He said every single member of my crew has their own, unique talent,” Bobbi said. Theron was pretty damned sure that wasn’t what Bowdaar had said, but he wasn’t going to press it. ‘Which is why I’m sending Corso and Guss in as a _distraction.”_

“You have more than those two on planet?”

“You’ve never met my old mandalorian friend, have you Theron?” she said, keying her comm again. “She’s been busy for a while, something to do with your Alliance I’ve heard, but she’s in town at the moment. Had a drink last night. And she owes me a favour, or six. So.” She grinned as the call connected. “Akaavi?” she said. “Got a job for  you.”

 

***

 

“I dunno why the Captain always feels the need to pair us up,” Corso said. “It’s not like we have complimentary skills.”

“It’s because you don’t like me,” Guss said. Corso was driving and he sucked at his teeth.

“That’s not true, Tuno,” he said. “I like you fine.”

“It’s not really a problem,” Guss said. “Not many people do like me. The Captain thinks we should get along better, though, so she sends us on missions together because she thinks that sharing danger is a good way of getting to know the strengths and weaknesses of a person.”

“You really think so?” Cosro said. “Seems a roundabout way of doing things to me.”

Guss shrugged. “The jedi used to do it as well. Never turned out the way they said it would.”

“What, you never learned the strengths and weaknesses of the people you were sent into danger with?”

“Nope. And they never ended up liking me either.”

Corso snorted, pulling the speeder in at the address that the Captain had given them. He had Torchy and Flashy primed and ready, and he knew that Guss was sporting the modified shotgun he’d got him back on Coruscant, but he wasn’t entirely sure this whole mission wasn’t just some elaborate set up the Captain had made for her own purposes.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Stay on your toes,” he said to Guss, who chuckled.

“You know I don’t have…”

“It was a figure of speech, Tuno, come on.”

“I’m just messing with you Corso.”

“Maybe that’s why the jedi never ended up liking you.”

The apartment block was about standard for Nar Shaddaa -- not as tall as its surrounds, but still big enough that a younger version of himself would have stood and gaped at it, at least on any other planet than Nar Shaddaa. He’d never really been a fan of this place, although the Captain spent a good deal of her time here. Unsavoury places really were her favourite type, after places that made her credits.

“Apartment 486,” Guss said. “Lead the way, Riggs.”

“You know you could volunteer to go first sometimes,” he said.

“There have been many great Mon Calamari generals in the republic, Corso, and some of them even lead from the rear.”

Corso sighed. “Just. Come on. Okay?”

 

***

 

Theron, Bobbi and Koth made their way back to their seats, where Bowdaar was still sitting, inexplicably holding another carton of mushi kernels. “Where are you getting those things?” Theron asked.

Bobbi elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m a _smuggler,_ Theron.”

“That… you… that doesn’t make any…”

“Corso and Guss should be there in a few minutes,” Bobbi said, sitting in her seat and taking the carton that Bowdaar passed to her. “Akaavi will probably get there before them. She’ll… uh… extract the information we need about what’s going to happen, then we’ll know what to do.”

“I’m sure she will, Bobbi, the problem is that finding out who’s trying to do it and how they’re going to isn’t actually going to _stop them from doing it.”_

Koth cleared his throat. “Can’t we… I don’t know, turn off the lights? Shut down the huttball field? Somehow?”

Bobbi winked at him. “That’s good thinking, handsome, but these fields have better security than most planetary governments. Too many people have too many credits riding on these games.”

Bowdaar growled at them from his seat and made a gesture at the transparent barrier encasing the box.

“I have no idea what it’s made of,” Bobbi said. “Why would I know that?”

Bowdaar shrugged and growled again and Bobbi flashed a grin. “Well I’m pretty sure you _could_ break through it, buddy, and even if you couldn’t you trying to would end up being a pretty good distraction…”

Koth looked at Theron, then at Bobbi, then at Bowdaar. “He’s seriously not suggesting…”

Bobbi shrugged. “There’s a reason Bowdaar isn’t supposed to come to official functions where there are hutts.” She popped another mushi kernel in her mouth as Bowdaar made a huffing sound that Theron knew was smug wookiee laughter. “Doesn’t like them much. I’m pretty sure he can arrange to get offended by something that Giradda does and I’m not your official guest, am I Theron? Anything Bowdaar does is gonna be on me, not you.”

“You know, that’s the first time I’ve been comforted by the prospect of Bowdaar destroying things. We’ll take it as a last resort though, okay?”

The siren went off, and Koth sat forward in his seat. “It’s starting,” he said.

 

***

 

Vopenir knew running, and she knew jumping, and she was marginally familiar with avoiding death traps unless they happened to be baited with her spouse. She was also good at stopping people from hitting her with weapons, and the first minute of the huttball match she actually found herself enjoying it.

Just like a battle, really, she thought as she force pushed a frogdog into an acid pit, and catapaulted over the back of another to slam into the ball handler. The frogdog fell to the ground, the ball slipping from his fingers as another rotworm sped past and scooped it up, racing towards the goal line.

Vopenir looked up, scanning for other enemies that might be attempting to impede her teammate’s progress towards scoring, and was suddenly confronted by a pair of yellow eyes in a somewhat familiar face.

“Remember me, Outlander?” Novo said, as he reached down and grabbed her by the straps of her rotworm breastplate.

“You do look familiar,” she gasped out, as he dragged her towards one of the air vents that lifted players to the upper gangways above the pits.

“You killed my partner,” Novo said.

“As I recall it was Vaylin who killed him,” she said. “And if you’re going to blame me for all of her murders we could be here for a very long time.”

The air vent activated and they were blown in a gust of air that was enough to rip Vopenir’s helmet from her head. She probably hadn’t strapped it on properly, she had time to think, before they both landed on the gangway. Novo rolled away from her and she fell backwards, flipping back onto her feet as soon as she was able. They faced each other, warily, Novo’s eyes narrow and shrewd.

“It’s a long way from Zakuul,” Vopenir said.

“I was paid to come here,” Novo hissed at her. “Because whoever wanted you dead thought that I did as well.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You mean you don’t…”

He made a frustrated sound. “Whatever else we believed you to be, stupid was not one of them, Outlander.” He lifted a long, metal staff into battle position and Vopenir took a step back, instinctively ducking into a fighting crouch. “Fight me, Outlander!” Novo shouted, and this time he was loud enough that Vopenir saw a few of the other players turn their heads up to look at what was going on.

She spread her hands. “With what?” she said.

Novo shifted slightly, showing that he had a shorter staff tucked in his belt, about the length of Vopenir’s regular lightsaber, and Vopenir grinned.

“How long should this last, do you think?” she asked, more softly this time.

“I am certain your friends are working to help you,” Novo said. “In the mean time, my employer expects a show.”

She lunged forward, pulling the stave from his belt and kicking him in the stomach on her way back. His breath was dashed out of him and he stumbled a little before brandishing his staff again with more grace than any of her instructors at the academy. For the first time, Vopenir became aware of the sound of the crowd surrounding the pit on all four sides. It was a living, breathing mass of energy, and when Novo fell backwards it surged, cheers and cries echoing around them.

Vopenir blinked, breathing in. This was an interesting, different kind of power.

  


She thought she might like it.

Her grin became fierce, and Novo’s eyes glinted in recognition as she attacked.

 

***

 

“What’s happening?” Koth asked. “I don’t understand, why are they all just milling around that one guy…”

“He’s got the ball,” Theron said. “They’re trying to get it back from him.

“That girl just kicked him in the head! Is that allowed?”

“Yes Koth, we explained that it was allowed, that’s why they’re wearing helmets.”

“I’m pretty sure if you arm the teams it’s technically a battle and not a sport,” Koth said. “Seriously that… Izax what’s going on now?”

Theron squinted. He’d seen Vopenir take out a ball handler, vault over another player and disable a third, but had lost sight of Novo shortly after the match befan.

Until a large figure swooped down on Vopenir’s position from above and lifted her by her breastplate. Theron stood up, desperate to see what was happening, as Novo pulled Vopenir aside and almost threw her into one of the air jets.

Both of them were launched up onto the gangways that spanned the pits and Theron was sure Novo used the force to make sure they landed properly. There was a flurry of movement, and suddenly they were both holding staves.

He caught his breath as they were still for a moment, and then they began to fight.

“Well wow,” Bobbi said. “Your girl’s pretty good, Theron.”  


“She’s been having some extra training,” he said.

“Really?” Vopenir swept her staff at Novo’s feet, and he leapt over it and over her head, kicking her in the small of her back, or at least trying to. Vopenir twisted out of the way of his foot, grabbing it with one hand and pushing him backwards. Novo was too good though, and fell into a roll, launching Vopenir over his head. She let go of his foot and tucked into a somersault twisting impossibly in the air and landing on her feet, still facing Novo before she charged back in.

Theron realised that he’d stopped moving and was simply watching her, mouth open. They’d been fighting together for so many months now -- he’d forgotten what it was like to be able to see how she moved -- forgotten the grace and power that she had. Even wielding the staff rather than her usual lightsaber she had an economy of movement -- every thrust and parry was perfectly calculated.

“Who’s been training her?” Bobbi asked.

Koth laughed. “Among others, his mother apparently,” he said.

“Grand Master Shan? Wish I could be a fly on the wall for _that_ awkward family dinner.”

“Vopenir doesn’t like her cooking, apparently,” Koth said.

Bowdaar growled something and Theron felt Bobbi’s hand on his arm. “Yeah, I agree,” she said, gently pulling Theron back down into his seat. “If the Knight is all they’re going to throw at her I don’t think we need to worry about that distraction.”  
Theron blinked. “Mmm? Uh huh. I mean. Um. What?”

Koth chuckled. “The Commander beat Novo the first time she fought him. And the second time too. Maybe our friend was relying on the drugs to slow her down?”

The rotworms scored, obviously taking advantage of the fact that a good many of the opposite team were distracted by Vopenir and Novo going at each other like a whirlwind. The sound of the siren going off seemed to be enough to get the teams back on track, though, and after a moment they were frantically rushing back and forth after the ball, all but ignoring Vopenir and Novo.

“I’m finding it difficult to believe that this is all we’re going to get thrown at us,” Koth said. “I mean, whoever set this up went to a lot of trouble, getting Novo here from Wild Space would have taken resources, a ship, time… hacking the droid…”

Bobbi’s comm went off and she answered it. “Hey Akaavi,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Riggs and Tuno are inside,” a deep, rich voice came over the comm. “Looks like he has security guards watching the building, but they’re nothing I can’t handle so long as the boys keep him distracted.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“Some rich human,” Akaavi said. “Oily. I don’t recognise him but you all look the same to me.”

“You think we all look oily?” Bobbi said, offended.

“You _feel_ oily,” Akaavi said. “Looks have nothing to do with that at least. What do you want me to do?”

“Let Corso and Guss distract him for a bit, make sure he doesn’t move. We’ll be wanting to have a chat with him once the match is over.”

 

***

 

The man was calling himself Kyron and while the Captain delighted in telling everyone how naive he was, Corso would eat his own foot if he was telling the truth.

“This is outrageous!” he was saying, exasperation and distaste written all over his face. He seemed particularly displeased with Guss, recoiling from the Mon Calamari as though his presence could somehow infect him. “I don’t have any knowledge of this package, I didn’t order anything to be delivered and I don’t care how many credits you’re owed because I don’t want it!”

He was a man of middling height, brown skin and a very meticulously cared for beard. Dark hair which was oiled in such a way that screamed nobility to Corso (he’d spent enough time on Alderaan to recognise that particular style) not to mention the appalling accent he was faking. Core world, no doubt. His money was on Alderaan, although there was an outside chance it was Coruscant, that hair style had been popular a year or so ago.

The apartment was dingy but showed small signs of wealth -- an opened bottle of Corellian whiskey several grades above what the Captain usually drank, a rich, shimmersilk coat flung over one of the dusty armchairs, high quality holoprojector. It was a mess, though, empty food packages and other clothes strewn away in a way that reinforced Corso’s assessment that this was a noble -- someone totally incapable of looking after himself.

“Look, friend,” Guss was saying in that way he had of sounding like he was about to cry. “I can’t leave. I can’t go back to my family without these credits, they’ll throw us out onto the street. I have _children…”_

Corso coughed. Guss was laying it on a little thick. That said he didn’t really think there was any way Guss knew how _not_ to lay it on thick, and this was less dramatic and cringe worthy than some of his stories.

Kyron was backing away from them, moving towards the kitchen. “I’m warning you,” he said. “You’ve come into my house without a proper invitation, I should never have opened the door to you in the first place, and I have powerful friends who will not be amused by your petty little concerns. Why would I care about your family? I am _far_ too busy and important to…”

Too late, Corso realised what he was doing. “Guss! Stop him!”

Guss lunged forward and tried to stop Kyron as he scooped up a communicator and hit a button.

“Blast,” Corso said, thumbing his own comm. “Captain, target is aware, target is…”  


The door burst open and three massive Nikto -- mercs by their gear -- barged in.

“Kill them!” Kyron shouted. “Kill them and cover my escape!”

Corso pulled his blasters out and Guss tried to catch Kyron, who was surprisingly nimble. The man slid out of Guss’s grasp and bolted for the rear door, flinging it open and barreling straight into the chest of Akaavi Spar.

She wasn’t the biggest Zabrak Corso had ever met, but when she was fully armored and armed (which was always) Corso privately believed she was the most frightening.

“You,” she said, grabbing hold of Kyron’s collar and lifting him up to his toes, “are cowardly as well as stupid.”

“Who… who are you?” Kyron stuttered.

“Your captor,” she said simply. “And I have a friend who wishes to speak to you.”

“That’s real nice Akaavi,” Corso said. “But you can take her to see the Captain once we’ve gotten rid of these mercs, yeah?”

Akaavi rolled her eyes. “The Captain only required that I stop this one from escaping, or return him to her,” Akaavi said. “She said nothing about rescuing the two of you.”

Corso let out a sigh. He wished he was surprised. “Really?” he said, training his blasters on the Nikto, who seemed unsure if pressing the attack would result in their employer’s death. “You’re really going to leave us here to deal with this by ourselves?”

“Hey, yeah,” Guss said, pointing his blaster with a less than steady hand at the mercs. “That’s… not very honorable of you Akaavi!”

“You speak of honour as though you have a concept of what it is,” she said.

“I know what it is, I just prefer to avoid it.”

“I will never understand why the Captain values you.”  


“I promised to name my children after her,” Guss said.

“You said you already _had_ children!” Kyron shouted indignantly.

“Akaavi come on,” Corso said. “Help us out, I’ll owe you one.”

Akaavi’s lips turned downward and she shook her head.

“You are incompetent and weak, Riggs,” she said. “One day it will catch up with you.”

“I”m sure it will, and that’s great and all, but can we possibly arrange for it not to be today?”

Akaavi made a small, precise movement with her hand and Kyron went limp. Corso decided he wasn’t going to ask her what she’d done, because he was already scared enough of her, and jerked his head towards the nikto.

Akaavi pulled her staff from her back and twirled it menacingly. Guss gave his equivalent of a grin. “I’ll just… stay over here out of your way,” he said.

Akaavi nodded. “I think that would be best,” she said.

 

***

 

Bobbi was talking on her comm again and the huttball match was near finishing. The score was 5-4 in the frogdogs favour, and Vopenir and Novo had not stopped fighting since they’d vaulted up onto the gangway.

They’d moved, several times, at one point Novo had been flung into an acid pit, but his frogdog armor protected him enough that he wasn’t harmed when he vaulted back out again. A passing grappling hook had let Vopenir swing in between two of the spewing fire grates, where she had managed to keep out of sight of Novo for a good minute, but the big Knight had leapt through the flames and caught her just as she’d been moving to drop down into the pit before the goal line.

“Akaavi has our man, and a few extras,” Bobbi said. “They’re waiting at the apartment for us when the match finishes.”  


“Well,” Theron said, “that’s something I suppose.”

“She says he’s not talking much but she’s pretty sure she can get him to spill the beans on any other surprises they have in stall for our girl out there.”

 

***

 

The nikto really were no match for a determined Akaavi Spar -- not that Corso had ever met anything that was -- and she sat the weedy Kyron on the pile she had made of their bodies and started to slap and pinch him on the cheeks to get him to wake up. He moaned a few times, then pinched his eyes shut, obviously trying to make them believe that he was still unconscious. Akaavi sighed and put her thumb and forefinger on his shoulder, squeezing _just_ so, and the man’s eyes flew open and he let out an agonized scream.

“Hey, heeeeey, I don’t think the Captain would approve of…” Corso started.

Akaavi growled at him. “This man rigged a huttball match with the express purpose of killing the Commander of an Alliance that is sworn to rid the galaxy of the pustule that is Arcann,” she said.

Corso blinked. “Well. I guess. In the interests of the galaxy…”

“Ha!” Kyron said. “It’s too late. You can’t save her, you can’t save any of them. In a few minutes she’ll die no matter what I tell you, along with everyone else in that stadium.”

Akaavi raised an eyebrow and pressed her fingers into the man’s shoulder again. He screamed some more, until Guss made a concerned noise and started towards Akaavi with his hands outstretched.

“If she is going to die any way,” Akaavi said, “you can tell me how.”

Kyron snorted and mumbled something that was difficult to make out. Corso leaned forward and grabbed the man by his chin. He didn’t give two hoots about the Commander of the Alliance, but Bobbi was in that stadium, and he wouldn’t let anything hurt her, not while he drew breath.

“Tell us what you’ve done,” he said.

 

***

 

Bobbi’s comm went off again, and she held it to her ear. There was so much shouting and cheering going on, even in Giradda’s booth, that Theron was amazed she could hear anything at all.

On the field, Novo and Vopenir’s sparring was interrupted by the huttball landing at their feet. Both of them stepped away from it, wary of each other. The announcer shouted something about opportunities missed when teams were so keen to destroy each other rather than play ball and Vopenir leaned down, hands outstretched to pick it up…

“How many balls are there supposed to be in a Huttball match any way?” Koth said. He’d been tracking the match much more carefully than the rest of them, trying to work out exactly how people were scoring when most of them were covered in acid burns and probably had concussions. “Seems weird that there are two.”

Theron looked back at Koth, then out on the field. “Wait. What?”

“Look, the other ball is down the frogdog end, I think they’re about to score…”

Bowdaar shouted something and Theron leapt to his feet in sudden, sinking understanding.

“Theron the announcer’s box!” Bobbi yelled at him, dropping the comm from her ear. “Get over there and warn her! That thing’s going to blow the entire field!”

 

***

 

Giradda’s announcer had been blathering idiocy ever since the opening siren went off and Vopenir had managed to switch off that particular part of her hearing so she could concentrate on her fight with Novo. There was a particular cadence, though, to Theron’s voice, specifically Theron’s voice calling her name, and most specifically Theron’s voice calling her name with that catch of panic in it that told her something was wrong.

“Vopenir, _Vopenir that’s not the real ball. It’s a bomb. It’s set to go as soon as the finishing siren blows. You have to get it off the field, now!”_

Vopenir looked down at the globe in her hands. If she’d held the ball for more than a few seconds or ever played huttball before in her life, she supposed she would have realised that it was the wrong weight, and not properly balanced.

Novo looked at her, and she looked at him. The pit was enclosed, locked tight against intruders coming in and any players who felt the need to abandon the game halfway through getting out.

There were ten seconds left on the clock.

“We can contain it,” she said. “If we work together.”

He nodded, and she released the ball, letting it float between them with the force. Novo raised his hands and Vopenir did the same. This wasn’t her specialty, but she’d studied it the same as every apprentice at the academy. Reaching out with the force, she felt Novo next to her, marvelling once again at the different approach the Zakuul knights had to force power. Satele had had a point, she had time to think.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded. The siren for the end of the match went off and they formed a force bubble around the ball.

The explosion slammed into their combined barrier with all the force of a souped up thermal detonator. Without them there to contain it Vopenir was certain it would have ripped through the entire field, killing everyone on it, and taking out a good many of the surrounding spectators.

Vopenir and Novo were both flung back and away from it, as the explosion thrummed through the force and by extension, through them. Once the initial blast had dispersed they let their bubble relax, and there was a light pattering of ash as what was left of the ball fluttered to the floor in front of them.

The score was five all.

The announcer had managed to get his booth back, because the voice that blared out over the speaker was no longer Theron’s.

“AND IT’S A DRAW! TIME FOR _SUDDEN DEATH!”_

 

***

 

“They’re going to _keep playing?”_ Koth said.

“There are credits on this game,” Bobbi said, calmly, as if that explained everything.

“You people are all insane!”

Bowdaar growled out his agreement, but spoiled it somewhat by following it with a long peal of delighted wookiee laughter. Novo and Vopenir, still looking somewhat stunned, clambered to their feet, only for Novo to be flattened by a speeding rotworm. Vopenir was spun around on the spot as the big Zabrak captain of her team nudged her aside, clutching the real huttball in her arms.

After that, well, it was just an ordinary game.

 

***

 

Giradda the Hutt wasn’t known for his patience, or his smiling, but there was no mistaking the absolute delight he was taking in the results of the event he had been coerced into hosting.

Theron, Koth, Bobbi and Bowdaar were all brought before him once the booth had been cleared of other patrons. Vopenir, looking tired, but satisfied, was escorted to them by the captain of her team, who was grinning all over her face. She’d scored the final goal that had ended the match, and it was obvious as far as she was concerned, that was the only thing that mattered.

“Mighty Giradda is most pleased that the Esteemed Commander could attend his humble celebration, and congratulates the rotworms on their magnificent win.”

“She was almost killed,” Theron pointed, through gritted teeth. Giradda waved a hand.

“His bountiful greatness also says that the holonet ratings were the best since before the invasion of Zakuul,” the translator continued. “And insists that you join him for a feast in celebration of the rotworms victory.”

“Are you going to drug the drinks this time?” Bobbi said, sounding hopeful rather than threatening.

“That droid has been disintegrated,” the translator said. “I can guarantee that you will find nothing other than the finest wines and foods known to sentients across the Galaxy. Compliments of the most generous and humble of Hutts, the magnificent Giradda. And rest assured your Alliance will have as much support as we who are left of the Cartel can give.”

“Not something to be sneered at,” Bobbi said as they were led away from the lounger. “They may have been in decline since Makeb but there are a lot of hutts who still have a lot of money out there, not to mention influence and connections. Being on Giradda’s good side will be pretty sweet for your little operation.”

Vopenir was too tired to do anything other than raise her eyebrow at Bobbi’s dismissal of how much they’d accomplished on Odessen.

“We need to get you rested,” Theron said, hand in the middle of her back. “And you need to see a healer. What happened to Novo?”

“He’s gone,” Vopenir said. “Back to Zakuul, I think. It won’t be the last we see of him though.”  


“You’ll have to explain to me why you trusted him out there.”

“Later,” she said. “Right now we have someone to see.”

 

***

 

Theron had met Corso Riggs a few times, when he’d had reasons to do business with Bobbi, although her constant companion most of the time was Bowdaar, he knew the wookiee had a business elsewhere, although Bobbi was cagey about telling him exactly what that business was. Occasionally she needed a co-pilot when her most furry one was unavailable, and more often than not that co-pilot was the short, simple sounding farm boy from Ord Mantell. Guss Tuno and Akaavi Spar, however, he’d never met before now, and he had to see he was at the same time impressed and amazed at the kind of company Bobbi managed to keep when she wasn’t causing him particular trouble.

“A mandalorian Bobbi? Really?”

“Hey, I’ve heard you guys hang out with one these days too. Bet Major Tight Pants _hates_ that.”

“Yannada’s not exactly a mandalorian,” Theron said. “And Aric has mellowed a bit with age.”

“The Champion of the Great Hunt was adopted by Mandalore himself,” Akaavi said. Obviously her hearing was better than Theron had anticipated. “Whether she chooses to squander that honour running with thieves and cutthroats does not make that any less true.”

“Uh, okay, fine. So. Heard you found someone who was causing us trouble.”

Akaavi nodded to the skinny man sitting on the dusty couch in the middle of the apartment. Theron glanced at Vopenir, who was looking at him as though she thought she should know him.

“Says his name is Kyron,” Corso said. “Don’t buy it, though. Has a reeeaaalllly bad fake accent for one, and that hair is straight out of the salons of Alderaan.”

“What would _you_ know, gutter filth,” the man spat at Corso. Corso grinned and shrugged.

“Been spouting stuff like that ever since he woke up. Got worse when Akaavi told him you’d stopped the bomb. I think he really wanted you dead, Commander.”

Vopenir crossed her arms over her chest. “I cannot think of why,” she said.

The man fumed. “You… you don’t know who I am?”

“You look a little familiar,” she said. “Should I know you?”

He spluttered, raved a little, frothed at the mouth some more. Obviously whoever he was, Vopenir had at some point made him really angry.

“You _ruined my life,”_ he almost shrieked, and the remnants of the fake accent bled away, to be replaced with the rounded vowels of Alderaan.

“Ha!” Corso said. “Told you.”

“I’ve ruined many people’s lives,” Vopenir said. “You’ll have to remind me of the exact circumstances, I’m afraid.”

“I am Duke Kendoh of House Thul!” he said.

Vopenir tapped her lips with one finger. “Oh. Thul. Yes I _did_ do a few things on Alderaan during the civil war… such a long time ago now. Was that when I was working for Lord Baras, or after I killed him?”

Kyron… or Kendoh as he should probably be called now, was rendered speechless by her indifference for a few seconds.

“I do not believe you do not remember me,” he said finally.

Vopenir gave him a wide, friendly smile. “Wait,” she said. “It’s all coming back to me now. That’s right. The last time I saw you, weren’t you on your hands and knees scrubbing the floors of House Alde?”

Kendoh snarled and lunged forward, arms outstretched, obviously wanting to wring Vopenir’s neck. Theron wasn’t worried, Akaavi simply grabbed his collar and forced him back into the couch with a thud, and even if she hadn’t the man was so obviously no match for Vopenir -- even exhausted from the huttball match -- that it was laughable.

“You humiliated me,” he said. “You stripped me of my dignity, my title! You _made me a servant.”_

“How is Lady Renata?” Vopenir said mildly. “I’m assuming she got sick of your face which is why you’re running around free again. I do hope you haven’t pressed your advances on any other women. I might be forced to truss you up and put a shock collar on you -- deliver you to _their_ doors so you can serve them as you served her…”

“I will _kill_ you.”

Vopenir leaned forward and patted his head. “You tried,” she said. “And you failed.”

“Shall I kill him?” Akaavi asked.

“No,” Vopenir said. “He’s pathetic and horrible, but he obviously still has money and connections. I probably should have investigated that when I left him the last time but I had other things on my mind in those days. We’ll take him back to base and find out what he knows. He can serve the Alliance as he once served Lady Renata.”

“You _cannot!”_ Kendoh wailed.

Vopenir shook her head. “Oh, I think you’ll find that I can,” she said, and nodded to Akaavi and Koth, who each took one of his arms and dragged him away. He was still shouting obscenities as he left.

“Well, that was interesting,” Theron said.

“Remind me to tell you about him later,” she said.

“Obviously you didn’t go sith on him for being a _nice_ person,” Theron said, and she chuckled.

“No, I rarely did, believe it or not. As it turns out I should probably have gone… how do you put it… _sith on him_ a little harder, and we wouldn’t have had so much trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, reaching forward and smoothing his hand over her hair. It had come loose from it’s tie during the fight with Novo, and strands were falling over her face, still slightly flushed from her exertions on the field.

Thinking about her on the huttball field made _him_ flush a little, and he swallowed. “I think we have a party to attend,” he said.

“Oh yes,” she said. “And I packed my nicest things to wear.”

 

***

 

Theron wasn’t great at parties. He was okay at having a drink in a bar, so long as there wasn’t too much work he was missing out on, and he could carry a conversation with people (especially if he was undercover and looking for particular tidbits of information) but going to a set place with the express purpose of doing nothing but eating and drinking and talking to other people sounded a little like his version of a Corellian hell.

Vopenir, however, seemed keen and even enthusiastic about the prospect, so he put on a good face for her as they spent time in the luxurious hotel room getting ready, even though he’d far rather be exploring the capacity of the gigantic sunken tub that sat in the middle of the bathroom attached to their suite. The tub itself looked to be bigger than his entire quarters on Odessen, deep and comfortable, and more than capable of holding two.

He acknowledged that he might perhaps find something to enjoy at the party, however, when she emerged from said bathroom dressed in pale shimmersilk from head to toe, trimmed in gold. The tunic clung to her front using… the force, he supposed, there was no other way her breasts could be kept in place, and was gathered at the waist by a golden cord. The pants were also shimmersilk, and moved enticingly over her legs as she walked, gathered into tall, elegant boots that he had no doubt she would be able to run in should they encounter any more would be assassins.

Her lightsaber -- the new one she had made in the wilderness of Odessen -- hung at the golden belt that held her tunic closed, another concession to practicality.

She had brushed out her long hair and it curled in waves around her shoulders, hanging down to the middle of her back, and her face had been carefully made up to accentuate the fullness of her lips and the clear violet of her eyes.

He nervously tugged on his own tunic, which was deep green in a material that he wasn’t certain he’d ever seen before let alone worn, and cleared his throat.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and she smiled the most innocently delighted smile he thought he’d ever seen from her.

 

***

 

The evening was a blur after that, truly. Giradda’s food and wine was, as promised, delicious. Theron saw Koth making friends with the buffet table very early on in the piece, although later on he also saw him making friends with a burly, stong jawed Zeltron man who might not have shared Koth’s passion for tiny pastries but certainly had a lot of passion for Koth. Bobbi and Bowdaar regaled whoever wanted to listen with tales of her adventures aboard The Third Drink (Theron had only found out that was the official name for the freighter she loved so much recently, in general conversation she almost always referred to it as “the wife”) and the rest of their motley alliance circulated through the party eating and drinking and generally having what amounted to a good time.

Vopenir, for her part, was gracious and polite to everyone, and Theron felt he was catching a glimpse of the sith she might have been, for a short time, before her master had turned on her, before the carbonite, and Arcann.

There was cruelty and capriciousness in her, he knew that much, but he honestly thought that she’d changed over the years. Away from other sith, away from their obsession with power, with the teachings of whatever path it was his mother and Darth Marr had decided to throw her on in the wilderness of Odessen, she could be a softer, gentler version of the woman he had fallen in love with so many years ago.

He’d still loved her then. Of course he had. You didn’t start loving someone because of who they _could_ be, just as you didn’t stop loving them when they became something different.  


They danced together. They ate more food than they should have, and he probably drank too much wine. It was the closest thing to a night free of care they’d had since they’d met.

When he got back to the hotel her eyes were shining and she was buzzing with energy. She was like that, he realised, she loved being in the spotlight, loved the attention and the admiration. He was happy enough for her, although he much preferred to stand in her shadow.

They made love in the enormous tub, laughing, and slept in the equally enormous bed, and when Theron woke up to find her nestled in the crook of his arm, sleeping soundly, so trusting, he felt something unfamiliar in his chest that it took him a moment to identify.

Contentment. After years of trying to find a place -- with the jedi, with the SIS, even with the Alliance, he’d finally found a place where he belonged. Here, with her.

 

***

 

Odessen felt smaller, when she stepped off the Fury. The scurrying and noise of the ship hangar didn’t irritate her, however, and the calm contentment of their last night on Nar Shaddaa hadn’t quite departed. She walked through the soldiers doing their drills, Theron at her side, back towards her quarters. There was work to be done, naturally, and she felt the need to meditate as she hadn’t since waking from the carbonite.

“I hope you had a relaxing time,” Lana said, joining her as she turned down the corridor.

Theron grinned, spotting Vette who was heading towards Hylo’s offices. “You should have come, Lana,” he said. “I think you would have loved it.” He sped off, calling out Vette, who shouted something rude back to him.

“I’m uncertain you would have enjoyed yourself as much as we did,” Vopenir said.

“Huttball has never really been my thing,” Lana agreed. “Although the rest of the base managed to find a live feed and watch the match. It was very good for morale.”

“I’m pleased,” Vopenir said.

“Gault, Hylo and Yannada pitched in to buy something for your quarters,” Lana said. “I do suggest you consider carefully before you take it down. We all think it looks rather fetching.”

“What…”

“I left a report on your desk, concerning the state of the base and what went on while you were away,” Lana said, nodding towards the door, still smiling, and Vopenir pursed her lips, keying the lock on the door, wondering what on earth Hylo and her two paramours could have thought to get her that was clearly so amusing for Lana.

The door slid open and Vopenir looked up.

Inside, across the entire back wall of her room, a larger than life holo of… of _her._ In her rotworms jersey. Holding a huttball.

She looked at it for a long moment, then shook her head, and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Duke Kendoh is a slimy son of a hutt from the Sith Warrior storyline whom I'm pretty sure most people kill (I definitely did on my first playthrough). I do not condone letting him live as his specified punishment is just "exile" which is way too good for him in my opinion. Bobbi Voresh is my smuggler, who has been making guest appearances in the lovely Defira's fic "An Empire's Ransom" -- why not head over there and check that out, now that you've finished this one? I guarantee you will not be disappointed. Extra thanks must go to Defira for being my idea dumping house, and my beta reader, and just generally being an awesome human all around. Thank you, you gorgeous lady you, and THEXAN ISN'T DEAD.


End file.
